


Cherish Your Burden

by Fishielicious



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Brothers, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 00:56:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fishielicious/pseuds/Fishielicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fili thinks he is going to teach Kili how to throw knives. What could go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cherish Your Burden

The principal thing Fíli liked about having a little brother was that it made him taller. Meaning both that having a tiny person trailing him around made him feel bigger, and also that Kíli on his shoulders gave him the height to reach things on the top shelves.

Dís always kept her family heirloom weaponry on the highest of the shelves in her room. She didn't think Fíli and Kíli knew about it. Fíli was old enough to know that was a good thing.

He tried to impress upon Kíli the importance of silence. "Okay, now listen," he said, crouching down so Kíli could scramble up on his back. "This is just between you and me, right? Brother stuff."

"Yes."

Fíli straightened up, swaying a little before he adjusted to their new center of gravity.

"Which means you can't tell anyone. Not even Ma. Especially not Ma."

"Mmhmm." Kíli's heels dug in his sides as he struggled to reach the top shelf.

"Say, 'yes'. Please." Fíli got up on his tiptoes to give Kíli a few extra inches.

"Yes!"

Fíli heard metal scraping above his head and he locked one arm across Kíli's ankles and reached up to take Dís's throwing knives from him with his free hand.

"Okay, great, can you find the sword?"

"Uummmm."

"Hurry up!" Fíli's shoulders were starting to hurt, and Kíli kept pinching a tendon in his neck.

"It's too heavy."

He heard metal dragging again.

"You can't lift it? Don't drop it."

"No," Kíli said miserably.

"Okay. We'll get it next time."

Fíli lowered Kíli back down and, once his little brother had both feet safely on the ground, took off for the outdoors. "Come on!" he yelled, and Kíli's footsteps pounded as hard as they could on the floor behind him.

Dís didn't leave them unattended very often, but Fíli had been helping with Kíli a lot lately, and Dís said she knew he was mature enough to look after his little brother, just for a little while, while she ran down to the forge just as quick as she could go.

Outside, Fíli dropped the bundle of knives on the grassy slope and pulled a thick stump from the woodpile and rolled it out on its side.

"We'll practice with this. For a target," Fíli said, brushing wood chips out of his furs.

Kíli was sitting by the bundle of knives, a pile of overlarge clothing and velvety leather boots. He had one of the knives in his small and always sticky hands, holding the blade close to his face.

"Kíli, be careful!" Fíli stomped towards his brother and snatched the knife out of his hands.

Kíli whined, but quieted when he looked at Fíli's face.

"You mustn't touch these unless I'm here, okay?" Fíli held the knife down by his side. "Or Ma or Uncle Thorin or Dwalin or. Well, someone bigger than you, okay?"

Kíli nodded and stuck his fist in his mouth.

Fíli pulled it out again and wiped the slobber off on his pants. "And don't do that, either, okay, if we're going to do this, you have to act grown up." Fíli grabbed Kíli's arm and pulled him to his feet. "Now, watch," he said. "Dwalin taught me to do this." He faced the stump and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, to find his right balance, he thought.

"Do it, Fee!" Kíli said.

"Okay, I will. If you'll be quiet."

Kíli clapped his hand over his mouth, and Fíli stared hard at the center of the stump.

He let the knife go, and it whizzed past the edge of the stump, grazing the bark.

Kíli gasped.

"Oh, stop." Fíli was annoyed and turned around to grab another knife. "That was just practice."

The next hit, far off center, but it stuck to the stump and Kíli clapped.

This time, Fíli didn't tell him to be quiet. Another couple of tries and another couple of hits, and Fíli called Kíli to his side.

"Okay, you want to learn how, now?"

"Yes." Perhaps wary of being chastised again for his frivolity, Kíli nodded seriously and pressed his bow lips into a line. He held out his hand and Fíli, also very seriously, pressed a knife into his palm.

As he stood there, watching his baby brother holding a throwing knife in his hand, he doubted whether this was a wise way to prove his maturity. His ma would certainly disapprove.

On the other hand, Kíli thought he was so talented and grown up. No one else thought he was talented or grown up.

So he closed Kíli's hand around the hilt and squared his little brother's shoulders toward the stump.

"Throwing knives is all about balance," he said, mimicking Dwalin's speech to him.

Kíli nodded and licked his lips. Fíli gathered his long hair behind his back and squeezed his shoulders.

Kíli wasn't bad, for a six-year-old. Many of his throws made it all the way to the stump, even if they didn't stick or even hit. By the time he was done, Kíli was jumping with excitement.

"That was great," Fíli said. "Now, watch this." Fíli was sure, having successfully taught Kíli how to throw knives, that his next throw was going to go straight to the middle of the stump.

He squinted and lined up his shot. He tried to regulate his breathing, like Dwalin taught him.

By the time he saw Kíli dart in front of him, hand reaching for a bit of metal blade glinting in the grass, he was already letting go of the hilt.

Kíli's scream hit his ears and Kíli's body hit the ground.

Fíli was by him before the first scream ended.

"Where is it? Where? Are you okay?" Fíli tried to pull away Kíli's too-big clothes, looking for blood.

Kíli kept screaming, grabbing at his arm, and thrashing around so Fíli had a hard time holding him.

"Stop! Stop screaming, where is it?" Fíli yanked his sleeve up. When he gripped the fabric, it was warm and wet.

Kíli's shoulder was blooming red, blood rushing down his arm.

Fíli scooped him up in his arms and started running. He didn't know where he was going; he thought maybe he would run all the way to the forge.

Kíli clung to his neck with his good arm and never stopped screaming except to take long, sharp breaths.

Fíli hated him for it at the time, but the screams did them both a lot of good. They drew Balin, just sitting down to lunch a few doors down, out of his house and into the street.

He stopped Fíli, and through Kíli's screams and Fíli's sob-punctuated sentence fragments, Balin managed to draw out the story.

He ushered the two into his home and cleared his lunch off the kitchen table, so he could sit Kíli on top of it and examine his wound.

He had Fíli go get some clean laundry and a pitcher of water, and he cleaned off Kíli's arm while Fíli stood in the corner, watching and sniffling.

Fíli didn't dar ask the questions that were foremost in his mind. Would Kíli lose his arm? Would he maybe die? What was his ma going to think?

It certainly sounded like he might die. Balin's back was to him, and his broad hunched shoulders obscured Kíli from Fíli's view, but he could hear Kíli wail and gasp for breath and see Balin's arms moving rapidly.

"Now stop that," Balin said.

Fíli froze, sure that he must have been doing something wrong.

But Balin wasn't even looking at him.

Then he realized Kíli had stopped crying.

That sparked both panic and curiosity in him that overcame his shame. He came to Balin's shoulder and peered around him.

Kíli was sitting on the table with his feet dangling over the edge. His face was red and he was swiping at his nose with his hand. Fíli didn't see any blood on him anymore. His bloody shirt was in pile next to him on the table. Balin had wrapped a blanket around him and his skinny arm was sticking out, his shoulder wrapped in a thin white bandage.

"There no reason to scream so much," Balin said, patting Kíli on the head. "It's just a flesh wound, and it's not becoming of young Dwarf warriors to cry."

Then he looked at Fíli and his grandfatherly smile wilted. "What happened?"

Fíli wanted to shrink back or make himself seem small, but he thought of what his uncle and his ma told him about how a Dwarf always takes responsibility for his actions, and a Dwarf is always honorable.

So Fíli tried to explain as best he could. "We were just playing," he began. "I thought it might be good, if I taught Kíli how to throw knives. Because I learned, and I thought I could teach him." He couldn't help looking down at his feet, now. It sounded silly when he said it.

Balin nodded and cleared his throat.

Kíli snuffled. "I didn't mean to," he said.

"Didn't mean to do what, laddie?" Balin asked.

"To--to run in front of Fíli. I forgot." Kíli clutched at the blanket. "I didn't mean to. Are you going to tell Ma?" He looked at Balin with the big wet eyes that usually got him what he wanted.

Balin laughed out loud. "Now, lad, don't you think your ma will notice such a big cut on her little gem?"

"I'll say I fell down. Or it was a bear," Kíli mumbled, wiping his nose.

Balin laughed again. Fíli wished he wouldn't. "No, Kíli," he said. "We have to tell Ma the truth. She won't be angry with you. I'm the one who'll be in trouble."

"But I don't want to get you in trouble. Because…" Kíli looked down at his fists. "I don't want Ma to send you away from me."

"What? Ma wouldn't ever--" Fíli looked up desperately at Balin, suddenly fearful despite his better sense. What would they do with him, when he nearly killed his brother? Ma would surely never want him around Kíli again.

"Of course she wouldn't," Balin said. "What happened was an accident." He picked Kíli up off the table. "But I think it's time you took a rest, lad. It's been a tiring morning for you, and I want to talk to your brother."

"I won't," Kíli said, his voice threatening a screech as he kicked against Balin's sides. "You're sending me away." He reached full wail and went deadweight, nearly sliding out of Balin's arms.

"Stop it, Kíli!" Fíli said. "Just go take a nap." He had the impression that the more fuss Kíli put up, the worse it reflected on him.

Kíli shot him a bitter look, but quieted his wailing and let Balin carry him off to lie down.

When Balin came back, Fíli was still standing in the same spot by the table, holding his hands in front of him.

Balin was always nice to him. He was hoping, maybe, if he took this very maturely, it might end with Balin. He straightened his back.

Balin sighed and asked him to sit down at the table. He did, careful to maintain his good posture.

"This was a very dire mistake, Fíli."

Fíli struggled to look him in the eyes, when all he wanted to do was hang his head. He wished he'd been ordered to go take a nap, too. He could imagine Kíli in the back room, stewing like it was a prison cell, pressing his ear up against the keyhole. He was so glad Kíli was okay. He felt tears come to his eyes and said, finally, "I know."

"You know how dangerous those weapons are. They're not children's toys, and you are a child. You knew what you were doing was wrong, and you knew you were putting your brother in danger. He could have been killed."

Hearing it from someone else's mouth made his tears begin to fall in earnest, and his hands to shake. "I know," he whispered.

Balin looked down and rubbed his forehead. "But I'm sure you'll hear enough of that when we tell your ma and your uncle."

Fíli shuddered at that, thinking of the twin ire of Dís and Thorin.

"You know your ma and your uncle lost their brother. Years ago. And you can ask them any time you like." Balin put his hand on his chest, over his heart. "There's something missing they can never get back. There is, I think, a particular pain in losing one whom you felt responsible to protect. Your ma tells me you've been very helpful with your brother, feeding him, putting him to bed at night, holding his hand through the market. I imagine you know what it's like to feel protective."

"Yes." Fíli nodded and tried to stop the tears dripping off his chin and into his lap.

"Well, that's what your ma trusted you to do when she left him with you today. She trusted you to protect him. And that's what you will always have to do as his brother, even when he's grown, big and strong as you are. Or even stronger. You know Dwalin is my brother, don't you? And would it seem silly to you that I still want to protect him? Him, the most fearsome warrior of the House of Durin and me, a stooped old Dwarf well past his prime." Balin smiled and Fíli nearly laughed. He knew Dwalin couldn't ever need anyone to protect him.

"Well, I do," Balin continued, his smile wistful now. "I would lay down my life for him and be happy to do it. I remember him when he was a wee dwarfing with drool on his chin. If I ever lost him, I don't know that I could go on." Balin paused, his brow furrowed deeply and his hand running through his beard. "You'll be asked to do a lot of hard things in your life, hard and unfair things. The hardest and best thing you can do is to look after your brother. You must see this for yourself. The way Kíli trails after you. The distress he feels, even at the suggestion you might be taken away from him. How he wants to share in everything you do, even your punishment. If you're lucky, he will always look to you, first. You'll always be the best of the world to him. And that is a great responsibility. If you lead him right, he will always be there for you, one day, when all the rest of us are gone. Our lives are fragile. You will have many burdens in your life, but cherish this one the most."

By the end of Balin's speech, Fíli's tears had dried, and he was staring hard at his hands.

Balin sighed, patted Fíli on the shoulder, and went to go wash dishes.

When Fíli got up, his body felt stiff and shaky, and he tiptoed to the back room and opened the door. Kíli was lying in a pile on the floor behind the door, tear stains on his cheeks and his thumb in his mouth. He must have fallen asleep trying to listen under the door.

Fíli picked him up, gently, trying not to wake him, and tucked him into bed. When he went to stand up, Kíli's arms tightened around his neck.

"Fee," he said, halfway between sleep and wakefulness. "I'm sorry."

Fíli pushed Kíli's hair off his forehead and tucked his curls behind his ears. "No, I'm sorry. For hurting you. It wasn't your fault," he said. "It was mine." He said this even though he still kind of thought it was at least partially Kíli's fault.

"I'll tell them it was me. So you won't get in trouble."

Fíli laughed. "That's very brave of you, but a Dwarf of Durin's line is always honorable. We have to tell the truth. Now, go back to sleep." He moved Kíli's arms from his neck and tried to turn away.

Kíli grabbed him by the wrist. "Don't go," he said, his voice thin with worry.

Fíli sat down on the edge of the bed. "Okay. I won't go anywhere." He yawned. The morning had been scary and his heart was still burning. He was exhausted. So he lay down next to Kíli, and Kíli pressed his small grubby fist into Fíli's, and soon, they both slept.

*

When they woke up, Balin said their ma was on her way home, and they were to meet her there.

"Do you think you can manage the walk?" Balin asked.

Fíli nodded and held Kíli's hand tight in his own.

They were halfway out the door when Balin said, "Now, I nearly forgot. Wait a moment, lads," and disappeared back into the house.

Fíli and Kíli stood on the threshold, Fíli stock still with an iron grip on Kíli's hand, and Kíli making impatient noises, twisting in his boots, and pulling at the shoulder of the greatly oversized shirt Balin had given him to wear home.

Balin came back with a little bundle in his hands. "This is for you," he said, and handed it to Fíli. "Now, have a good night, lads, and good luck."

Fíli tucked the bundle into his coat pocket and Kíli tried unsuccessfully to hide his jealousy. Fíli knew what it was, instinctively, but he didn't open it until after they got home and weathered much shouting and tears and stiff punishments. He waited until he was alone in their room that night (to which he would be confined for the foreseeable future), after Kíli had gone to sleep. Then, in the semi-darkness, he unrolled the bundle and felt the soft, worn fabric between his fingers. His hands moved to the places where the fabric got stiff. Pieces of it were still wet, but cold now. He sat there, holding Kíli's bloodstained shirt, until behind him, his brother cried out in his sleep, and Fíli went to comfort him.

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of based Kíli's behavior off the dogs at the kennel where I work. The screaming and thrashing when you're trying to examine their injuries in particular. This should probably give you some perspective as to how I view children. I don't think I should be allowed to write them anymore.
> 
> Another fun fact: I always do find/replace to put the accents in Dwarves' names, only when I did that for Dís, I ended up replacing every word with the syllable "dis" in it. My favorites were "Dísapproval" and "Díshes". I think Dísdain is going to be a regular pun I use in my fic from now on. Also, a great ship name for anyone who wants to ship Dís/Dáin. I'm sure someone else has thought of this before.


End file.
